• Raining blood •

When Time is nothing

poets fall, hungry,

raining blood is not poetry

is a lament, agony.

Of each pupil, storms

desperate cries

blood rain, rivers bitter

hearts betrayed.

There is no reason, like stars,

or words like dreams,

there is only silence stolen

ethereal moments, stray rocks.

Raining blood, every evening,

like the kiss of coarse lover

sweet, sour, cloudy. Solitaire.

also rain miracles ...

Unfamiliar faces, eyes absent,

raining blood everywhere

love always dies

distracted, confused ...

Will it rain one day songs

promises kept, dreams?

Will liquor verses,

Smoke discontent?

Raining blood, pieces of meat,

for each wound and scar

around every corner, dismissed;

and verses dying ...

Viviana Nevárez